


Black and Blue [Nightwing love story]

by shawtymiamor (orphan_account)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/shawtymiamor
Summary: "I don't deserve to live, Dickie bird." She says, her voice soft. "It's okay.""No." He feels like he's going to cry. "No, baby-"Her lips ghost over his in what seems like a final kiss.Then, with nothing but a soft smile, she steps back, treading on thin air, and falls.-In which a cruel world thrusts forth a poor, innocent girl, bruised and beaten, and only the charming, flirtatious and comforting boy is there to love her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Her mouth is hard on his, and he is panting. This is more exhilarating than his job.

"I thought you had a lover." She mumbles against his lips. He tears away from her and stares deep into her charcoal black eyes. She has no sclera, her eyes are wholly black. It is a kind of dangerous beauty, a kind of danger that he loves.

Her hair curls against her shoulder enticingly and falls to mid-back in a flurry of curls. It is the same deep raven black as her eyes are, perfectly styled even after the fiasco it has gone through.

In short words, she is beautiful.

His voice is brittle, hard and angry, as he replies, "I don't care."

"You will when the alcohol wears off."

What she says is true. After he wakes up to the memories next morning, he will grow angry and violent at his actions. Guilt towards his lover will be infinite. But this will leave no trace- it is just a way to pass off the time.

"I don't care." He repeats.

She looks amused as she shrugs nonchalantly. Her eyes seem to mock him as they dance with laughter. "Give me a name." She says.

He looks at her and tilts his head, eyes raking over her, as if wondering whether to slit her throat or to kiss it. "Will." He decides.

The woman shrugs, again, and moves towards him, lithe as a cat. She licks her lips and he wants to both claim it and paint it with blood.

"Will." She tests. He decides the name is good coming from her lips. Too bad it's not his real name.

_This will leave no trace, _he thinks, and then he claims her body and they are no more.

* * *

The phone rings.

"Hello?" He picks up, voice gruff. His voice is always gruff when he picks up the phone.

"Is this Will?" She says. He's just about to deny the name when he remembers.

He barely recognizes her voice, it has been almost a year. But he has grown to blame everything on her. He hates her voice now.

"What do you want?" He snaps. His eyes dart towards his sleeping lover then back to the phone. When she doesn't reply, he repeats, "What do you _want_?"

The lights flicker on and off, and there is static coming from the phone. He gives it a rough shake and the whole thing returns back to normal.

"The doorstep." She manages out. "Go out."

He snarls. She is not in the position to give orders. "Why?"

"You have spawned the devil, Will." She says. "The devil, that is what it is."

Then he hears a gunshot and the line goes dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Her footsteps patter on the ground loudly as Kiera Wilson runs away from her life.

All of it.

Her breaths are coming in short, quick pants as she clutches the deep gash on her thigh, ignoring the blinding pain and instead choosing to look back occasionally. She is nervous, and anxious, and worried, but most of all scared- scared for the mask that haunts her even in her dreams, the way his cold eye stares down at her as if she is nothing but a worthless thing. She has been taught not to be scared, but she is.

Taught. Wise words of choice, if you may find beatings, trauma and torture a form of teaching. Rehabilitation, she supposes that is what it is. Rehabilitation to rid her mind of any self-confiding thoughts. Rehabilitation to rid her mind of any thoughts of escape from this cruel, cruel world.

Kiera puts weight on her leg again and almost shrieks at the strain, her tears of pain and blood of labor mingling with the melted snow, and blood drips onto the fresh whiteness of it. It leaves a trace, and she has been taught not to leave traces, so she blames herself.

She glances back, afraid that she will be met with the cold demeanor of her mentor, of her father.

No, not her father. A father could not be so cruel.

Her body runs as smoothly as a well-oiled machine, turning alleyways and streets and corners. Every shadow seems like a predator, a knife, ready to strike. Her mentor is turning even her safest territory against her.

Her braided hair is drenched and slaps against her back harshly but she ignores the sensation, hastily peeling her bangs away from her eyes and turning another corner. The road is wide yet no one is on it, leaving it completely deserted to her use. She begins to suspect why, when her suspicious are confirmed by the skidding of stones.

A cliff.

Her heart beating against her chest, Kiera turns back towards the road.

Tears are streaming down her cheeks faster than ever, but she knows she will get a beating if she cries so stop. The tracks of the tears that had been cried already are icy against her skin, biting into her flesh like frostbite. Snow pelts her wound, and it throbs but she knows ice will help the flow of blood so do nothing against it. She looks down the cliff, uncertainly.

It is at least fifty feet and leads to jagged rocks and crashing waves.

But she can see a shadow, stretching far by the steep land formation, and the stretching shadow may provide a chance of escape for her; if not for one fact, that she had never tried linking the shadows while falling off a cliff. She wonders if it will even work- but there is no other choice.

Away from him.

She nearly laughs out loud at the notion. She sounds like a normal eleven-year-old, swearing to run away from her parents and from what she may call school. The notion that she might even be a normal girl brings a sensation like a knife digging into her heart but it does not matter. The only thing that matters is escape from this hellhole.

Escape- that is one idea. She brings the round device out of her pocket, the last and only one she brought, and it presses into her palm in an uncomfortable way but not as uncomfortable as waiting for his footsteps. They are as silent as a cat's yet she can hear it, soft padding and a deadly purr in the back of his throat.

Will the fall kill her? She thinks not. She hears him get within legitimate reach and readies herself.

Her aim is perfect, just like she has been trained to be. The device blows out gas and she can hear him moving towards her, so she takes a chance and leaps.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey." The first thing she hears is a voice. "Hey. Are you okay? What's your name?"

_What?_

Her vision is blurry. She can't feel her legs and her arm is numb. Her shoulder feels like it's been through one of his training sessions.

In short, she feels horrible- probably looks so, too.

"Um," The voice sounds a little confused. "Can you open your eyes?"

_Open her eyes?_

Who is this?

What does he want?

Kiera doesn't want to open her eyes, for fear that this voice, whoever he is, could be an enemy. It most likely is, percentage wise.

Because everyone is an enemy.

But she can't leave herself vulnerable forever. She's been taught not to. Vulnerability means a chance to get to you. A chance to get to you, meant instant death.

With that thought, she decides to take a chance and cracks her eyes open an inch. The voice seems young- around the same age as her? So she's not surprised when she's met with the sight with a young face-

A young face with a domino mask.

A hero.

_Robin?!_

"Boy Wonder!" She gasps, her eyes widening as she tries to think of why her head is on Robin's lap as he looks at her curiously, face inches from hers. She's never been this close to a boy before. It's oddly... enhancing, and although he is one of the first boys she have seen who is not a trainee, she has to admit that he, yes, does look cuter than she can admit. He smells nice, clean. A reality she cannot ever achieve, all because of him. "H- how did I get here?"

She wonders if he is coming for her and the Boy Wonder and if Robin would protect her.

"Woah! Calm down." He says. "Uh, you kind of fell from the sky while I was on patrol. What's your name?"

So she landed herself several feet above air. She can sense a slight interrogating tone of voice, as if he is asking why exactly she did.

"Kiera.... Lawton." It's a half truth, always better than no truth at all. "I fell off." The lie comes smoothly from her lips. "I was looking down the edge and fell. The cut is from when I fell and one of the sharp edges caught me."

His mouth opens and closes. Kiera almost feels sorry for lying, and she wants to run into his arms and cry and spill everything, but she can't.

She doesn't deserve to.

"I've called Batman." He says, finally. "I wanted to bring you to the nearest facility ASAP, but I couldn't carry you. There's a pretty deep gash on your leg, I mean, and you might wanna get it checked out-"

"No!" She blurts out, then when he looks at her like she's crazy, she shakes her head, calming her tone of voice and forcing it to sound softer. "No thanks, I think I'll be okay."

Batman?

He's called _Batman?_

She remembers how they spoke his name with such loathing. Batman. She has been taught at an early age that the Dark Knight should be eradicated, kept out of the way. That the Dark Knight is nothing but an ideological fool, and that the Justice League is no better.

But she has heard other tales. Tales of him saving people, helping people, and most of all being a detective. Knowing anything.

And the Gotham Knight cannot know anything about her.

_Anything._

She wants to lie in the shadow of safety, the shadow of this boy forever, but she knows she can't. She has to keep running, get away from him as far as possible. She wonders if she's gathered enough strength to take another leap. Probably not.

"Why not?" He sounds confused- probably he's used to people yelling in glory and happiness after they've met the Justice Leaguer. But she can't.

"I can't." She backs away and she can't help herself, when he reaches towards her she remembers the beatings and flinch, shielding herself from him instinctively. "Please don't."

_Great, he's going to think I'm a freak._

"I won't! You- you okay?" He asks, concerned.

Concerned. Actually concerned.

How long has it been since _anyone _spoke to Kiera Wilson with concern? She can feel herself shaking, trying to comprehend all of this. She lets out a bare nod.

The Boy Wonder sighs deeply and holds out a hand to her, and she notices how his hands are clad with thick black gloves, all fitted with new technology. She looks up at the hand.

Has anyone ever helped her up from the ground before? In her life?

She doesn't think so.

Biting her lip gently, she shakily places her hand in his and he hoists her up, catching her before she loses balance. He is polite to her and his arm is holding her around the waist, his fingers on the small of her back.

"Then..." He hesitates, and she knows from his expression he doesn't want to leave her behind. She doesn't want him to, either, but there's no choice. "Can I leave you be?"

She nods. Her voice sounds hoarse and small as she says, "Thank you."

"Robin." He blurts out. He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "That's, uhm, my name. Not Boy Wonder. Robin."

"Thank you, Robin." The word feels unfamiliar in her mouth.

"Listen, uh, Kiera..." He says, and she can tell he's pretty concerned about you which is touching but also dangerous because concerned means more attention. "You probably won't, but if you need me, if you need _anything_, just, call me, okay? You seem like you could use..."

The unsaid word hangs in the air.

_Help._

Translation? He sees her as a pity case.

She needs to act strong. Right now what she looks like is a broken, hurt girl from an alleyway and if she's _going to survive, she can't be that girl._

It takes a moment to realize he's pressing something into her hand, and she can make out a com device. He closes her fingers onto it and she looks down at her fist, at his hands holding hers gently. She looks back up and he's smiling gently at her, reaching out to touch her cheek softly. The fingers are burning hot against her face.

"Thanks." She says. She feels odd. Is this what they call gratitude, what they call sadness?

_You're getting all soft now. _She can imagine him saying. _Are you going to start crying, hmm?_

"You're welcome." He says. Then she does something irrational, something that only normal teenagers would do, yet something that makes her heart beat- leaning forwards, she places a chaste kiss on his cheek, her lips lingering there a little longer than coincidential.

"Really." She whispers. "Thank you."

* * *

She looks down at the com device in her hand as she limps out of the alleyway and onto a bridge, overlooking a wide lake. She reaches out to steady herself and one hand grasps the railing firmly, leaving a smear of blood, but her mind is fixed on the comm device that Robin himself had given her.

One decision could change her life, all based on this device.

All this- all her life could change with the press of a button and a few words. He makes her feel at ease, she could spill easily.

She could be normal. For the first time in her life, and hide her past behind normal.

The problem is, however, not whether this _will _solve her problems.

It is whether she deserves it or not.

And, like it or not, there's only one correct answer.

That's why, when she draws back her arm and flings the com device as far away as she can into the river, she feels no remorse, no guilt.

Nothing at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Lol did u think I would let her get away so easily**

_Maybe I should not have run away so irrationally._

_Maybe I should not have run away AT ALL._

These are the thoughts running through Kiera's head as she stands in line for the Charity Service's free meals. She has been taught to get food any way she can- and that includes 'feed the homeless' campaigns.

She just thanks herself that she had managed to wear civilian clothing before she had escaped, being able to blend in perfectly.

No.

Not perfectly.

Beneath her camo pants, an already soaked strip of cloth is wrapped around her thigh as tightly as it can as she limps along the line. Some of the homeless is looking at her haughtily like she has offended them, which she most likely has. Her limp is drawing attention and she is slowing down the entire line.

But she has no choice.

The charity workers stare at her in what seems like pity, of course they would. An eleven year old getting food from charity, dressed in torn, muddy, wet clothes and seemingly half mad. She wants to lash out at them, preferably show them the wide array of weapons that she could make from her spoon, but she does not, she must not.

Irrationality, wrong actions- anything could lead to death.

_Anything._

So instead she lies, as she has been taught to, and tugs her unwilling mouth up into a smile. They dump food onto her tray and she sees, with increased loathing, that even a _charity _meal is better than what he gives her. Piles of mashed potatoes and.... other things.

_Beggars can't be choosers, little girl._

So she sits down, commands herself to eat, and begins thinking of a plan.

* * *

_Step 1: Find a home. Habitat is one of the most important, essential and fundamental things in survival._

Unfortunately, step 1 is also the hardest. She thinks about anything that can help with finding a home as she walks the streets of what she estimates to be Gotham. She _could _blend in with the homeless, stay safe, but that is not why she ran away.

She ran away to have a better life.

That statement may make her sound like a selfish prick but it is true, and she thinks, _why can't she be selfish for once?_

_Because of everything you did, _a little voice in the back of her head says, and she regrets asking the question in the first place. _Because you're you._

She fights the urge to sob. The voice is more annoying now- because it's right.

It's so _right, _she _does _deserve hell.

There is one way, but it would just condemn her more. It would be an exceedingly dangerous mission.

Kiera sighed.

_I cannot believe I'm getting into trouble after a few hours of running away._


	5. Chapter 5

The Boy Wonder does a flip as he lands on the nearby rooftop, face burning where her lips had landed. His hand comes up self-consciously to touch the spot of skin, and he realizes he's grinning like a fool. Wow, Being a superhero sure does have perks.

But then again he also feels both guilty and contented after he tricked her.

_Maybe that was a little wrong, _he scolds himself, but laughs it off soon after. It was for her own good! What could go wrong?

He ignores the fact that everything goes wrong after he says it.

In his comm, Batman crackles to life. "I'm almost there, Robin."

There?

Robin's eyes widen as he remembers what he had asked of the mentor. "Oops. Sorry, Batman. I don't think that's necessary anymore."

"This isn't another joke, is it?" His voice sounds slightly humored yet exasperated. Oops.

"Nah. Me? Joke? Batman, you've got to be kidding me." He says, a light tone to his voice, but his actions hardly reflect on his tone; digging the tracker out of his pocket, he watches the red dot moving further and further.

And stop.

He frowns. Why is she stopping? He tries to think that it's nothing, that she's just taken a break. Yeah, that's probably it- but why does he have a gut instinct that something is wrong?

Moreover, why does he think something is wrong in the first place?

_You're a detective, Robin, _he scans over the overall picture, trying to figure out what is wrong. _Figure SOMETHING __out._

And figure out he does.

According to the comm-

she's smack dab in the middle of a lake.

A _lake._

He immediately takes off, hoping that he's wrong, _begging _that he is.

When he gets back to the alleyway, there's nothing but silence, and that silence is so eerie- he notices the dent on the bins from her fall in this angle and scans the area. She's not there, and the slightly bloody trail she leaves in her wake ends quickly, trailing off right after the opening of the alley. He follows the navigation, gets to the lake.

He sees a bridge and his heart falls further.

_Retrace her steps._

Robin walks up the bridge, ignoring the confused looks of a nearby man walking his dog in the night; and sees something on the railings of the bridge. While the rest of the railings are silver and glinting off the moon's light, there is also a dark _something _that looks like paint covering it in the middle.

It is a spillage of blood.

His mouth opens further as he whips out the tracker, fully aware of the results he's going to find.

_Maybe she dropped it in, __just the tracker, _but it is impossible because there is no reason for her to have. And even if it somehow fell, it is too far off in the lake.

The lake is not shallow, either.

Right now he's too irrational to consider the different choices, so there is only one conclusion he can draw himself up to, and that conclusion scares him.

She killed herself.

And he let her go.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Guys idk why but all the chapters are super short????? ugh this is embarrassing**

_Step 2: Raid _his _storage._

That's exactly what she's about to do.

She's there.

_There._

Kiera sucks in a breath, legs dangling from a rooftop as she starts to comprehend exactly what she's about to do.

She has run away from the lion, and foolishly, is entering the lion's den.

Her fingers come up to rub the spot on her cheek where the Boy Wonder had touched gently, an anchor to the real world, almost wishing she had his comm with her right now. People would not be correct to assume that she had a crush on him, no; it was merely the simple fact that he was the first male being to ever show an interest in her that had not been those disgusting trainees, and the only person, in fact, that had ever seemed to care about her wellbeing.

Boy Wonder, the meals, everything; it was all so _new _to her, so frightening. Her clothes, muddy as they had been, had been traded for secondhand ones: she had gotten her pick from the charity cardboard boxes outside a building. Rummaging through, she had found a hoodie (her scars were yet unhealed and she needed to cover up) that was a mint green-blue in color, and black jeans. Sometimes hiding in plain sight was better, better even than wearing just all black. That was even more suspicious. She had immediately decided that this color would be her favorite. She wasn't allowed to wear these colors back.... _home. _Instead she had been dressed in black, black, and more black. This time she had even gotten a white strip of ribbon from an abandoned skirt- undoing her hair from the braid, she had dried it best as she could and had simply tied it back from her face instead of the usual braid. She wasn't allowed to tie hair any other way than braids back at home.

All these things- demonstrated much more freedom than she had ever had. She could not imagine a world going back up that horrid mountain now, a world of bruises and cuts and hate.

Now that she had gotten a taste of freedom, could she go much longer without it?

Her teeth sinking into her lower lip gently, she contemplated these questions as she looked down upon the brick wall- the hideout. There would be money there, and weapons and food and clothing and everything she would need.

She would just have to dart in there and get back out.

Her form shaking slightly, she wraps her arms around herself and tries not to consider the possibility of getting caught. Not that it's easy to.

But she had to do this.

For herself and for.. well, everything.

"Good-bye, world." She whispers, in case she won't make it out, and taking a deep breath. "Good-bye."

* * *

_hyperventilation, _she thought. _i can't. not right now._

His cold eyes gazed over you, over your chest rising and falling rapidly to the way you held your sword to _everything._

"You've lost your touch." He says, with a cold laugh. "Before you were weak enough, but now? Now you're just _disappointing_, little girl."

His words hurt.

_DAMN IT-_

He was waiting. He was waiting and you fell straight into his trap.

Of _course _you'd make that stupid mistake- you're rusty, he's right to say you are. Two days in this blasted place and you've lost your touch.

You can't ever hope to outsmart him, either. It's just not... possible. Not for someone like you.

_Especially_ for someone like you.

_Weakness is a sin, _you remind yourself. _Don't act weak._

But he doesn't tolerate disobedience. You hold the sword in both hands, a smooth hand-and-a-half grip, and wordlessly attack.

Fighting.

For your freedom.

His face covered by the ever so hideous mask, he waits for you to get to him and then: "You should be taught a lesson."

The first deep gash to your face leaves you gasping in pain.


End file.
